Mystery of the Spiteful Letters (9 page)

The children hurried off. Miss Trimble nodded to them and walked away down a little lane. The Find-Outers spotted the post-office at once and went over to it. Fatty produced a letter, and began to stamp it carefully.

‘Don’t want Goon to wonder why we’re all standing about here,’ he murmured to tbe others. ‘May as well post this letter.’

Mrs. Jolly went off to the market to find her sister. The children watched her go.

‘Well, neither Miss Trimble nor Mrs. Jolly have posted letters,’ said Fatty. ‘That lets those two out. Ah - here comes the artist girl.’

The girl smiled at them and went on. Then she suddenly turned back. ‘I see you’ve found the post-office!’ she called. ‘I’m so glad! How silly of me never to have noticed it when I pass it every single Monday. But that’s just like me!’

‘She’s not the one, either,’ said Pip, as she disappeared in the direction of the market. ‘I didn’t think she was. She was too nice.’

The vicar disappeared too, without coming in their direction at all. Now only Mr. Goon and the sour-faced man were left. Mr. Goon stared at Fatty, and Fatty raised his eyebrows and smiled sweetly.

‘Anything I can do for you, Mr. Goon?’

‘What you hanging about here for?’ said the policeman. ‘Funny thing I can’t seem to get rid of you children. Always hanging on my tail, you are.’

‘We were thinking the same thing about you too,’ said Fatty. He watched the sour-faced man, who was standing nearby at the kerb, still reading his paper about dogs and horses. Fatty wondered if he wanted to post a letter, but was waiting till the children and Mr. Goon had gone. Or was he really waiting for his brother, as he had said?

‘There’s the sweet-shop over the road,’ said Fatty, in a low voice, popping his letter into the post-box. ‘Let’s go over there and buy something. We can keep a watch on the post-box all the time. Then if dear old Clear-Orf or the sour-faced fellow are bursting to post letters, they can do it without feeling that we are watching!’

So they all crossed to the sweet-shop and went in. Larry and Daisy started an argument about whether to buy peppermints or toffees, and Fatty watched the post-office carefully through the glass door. He could see, but could not be seen, for it was dark in the little shop.

The sour-faced man folded up his paper and looked up and down the village street. Mr. Goon disappeared into a tobacco shop. Fatty watched breathlessly. There was no one about in the street now - would that man quickly slip a letter into the post-box?

A car drove up. The driver called out a greeting, and the sour-faced man replied. He opened the door and got in beside the driver. Then they drove off quickly. Fatty gave such a heavy sigh that the others looked round.

‘He didn’t post a letter,’ said Fatty. ‘He was telling the truth. Somebody picked him up in a car. Blow! Bother! Dash!’

‘Well, even if he had posted a letter, I don’t see that we could have collared him,’ said Pip. ‘We didn’t know his name or anything about him. But I say - it’s pretty peculiar, isn’t it - not a single one of the passengers posted a letter - and yet one is always posted every single Monday!’

‘Well - we’ll just wait till 11.45 when the postman comes to collect the letters,’ said Fatty. ‘In case one of the passengers comes back, Ah, there goes Goon, off to the market. I suppose he’s buying butter and cream to make himself a bit fatter!’

The children waited patiently by the post-office till the postman came and took out the letters. Nobody came to post any. It was most disappointing.

‘We’re just where we were! ’ said Fatty gloomily. ‘Sickening, isn’t it? I don’t think we’re such good detectives as we hoped we were! You go off to the market. I want to have a good think. I may get a much better idea soon!’

So off to Sheepsale market went the others, leaving poor Fatty behind, looking extremely gloomy.

A LOVELY DAY

The children had a really lovely time at the market. They loved every minute of it. It was such a noisy, lively, friendly place, the birds and animals were so excited, the market-folk so good-humoured and talkative.

They found Mrs. Jolly’s sister, and she insisted on giving each of them a large brown egg, and a small pat of her golden home-made butter for their breakfast. Bets was simply delighted. She alway loved an unexpected present more than any other.

‘Oh thank you!’ she said. ‘You are kind - just exactly like Mrs. Jolly. She gives us sweets. Is your name Jolly, too?’

‘No. I’m Mrs. Bunn,’ said Mrs. Jolly’s sister and Bets very nearly said, ‘Oh, that’s just the right name for you!’ but stopped herself in time. For Mrs. Bunn was exactly like her name - big and round, and soft and warm, with eyes like black-currants.

‘Let’s go and find Fatty and tell him to come and see the market,’ said Bets. ‘I don’t like to think of him glooming by himself. We’re stuck over this case, and I don’t believe even Fatty can unstick us.’

‘There’s the artist girl, look!’ said Pip. And there she was, in the middle of the market, painting hard, gazing at all the animals and birds around her in delight. The children went and looked at her picture and thought it was very good indeed.

Bets went to find Fatty. He was sitting on a bench in the village street, lost in thought. Bets looked at him in admiration. She could quite well imagine him grown-up, solving deep mysteries that nobody else could. She went up to him and made him jump.

‘Oh, Fatty, sorry! Did I make you jump? Do come and see the market. It’s marvellous.’

‘I haven’t quite finished my pondering yet,’ said Fatty. ‘Perhaps if I talk to you, Bets, I might see things a little more clearly.’

Bets was thrilled and proud. ‘Oh yes, do talk to me, Fatty. I’ll listen and not say a word.’

‘Oh, you can talk too,’ said Fatty. ‘You’re a very sensible little person, I think. I haven’t forgotten how you guessed that telegraph-boy was me, just because you happened to see Buster staring up at me adoringly.’

Buster looked up at the mention of his name. He was looking gloomy, because he was still on the lead. He badly wanted to go off to the market, because the smells that came from it were too exciting for words. He wagged his tail feebly.

‘Buster looks as if he’s pondering too,’ said Bets. Fatty took no notice. He was looking off into the distance, deep in thought. Bets decided not to disturb him. He could talk to her when he wanted to. She began to practise twitching her nose just as she had seen the sour-faced man do. Buster watched her.

Fatty suddenly noticed it too and stared. ‘Whatever’s the matter with your nose?’ he said.

‘I’m only just twitching it like that man did,’ said Bets. ‘Talk to me, Fatty.’

‘Well, I’m trying to work out what’s best to do next,’ said Fatty. ‘Now - every Monday for some weeks past somebody has posted a letter to catch the 11.45 post here in Sheepsale - and each of those letters has gone to people in Peterswood. Well, if you remember, I said that that looked as if somebody living in Peterswood, who knew those people and possibly their histories, must have posted them.’

‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Bets.

‘And we worked out that the letter-writer probably caught that bus on a Monday and posted the letter on getting out,’ said Fatty. ‘So we caught the same bus, but we haven’t found any one we could really suspect - though mind you every one of those bus passengers must go down on our list of Suspects - and we didn’t catch anyone posting a letter either.’

‘You’re not going to put Clear-Orf or the vicar down on the list, are you?’ said Bets, astonished.

‘Every single person is being put there,’ said Fatty firmly. ‘We can easily cross them out if we think we should - but they’ve all got to go down.’

‘I dare say Clear-Orf has put us all down on his list of Suspects too then,’ said Bets unexpectedly. ‘I expect he was on that bus for the same reason as we were - to have a look at the passengers and watch who posted a letter.’

Fatty stared at Bets. Then he burst out into such a hearty laugh that Bets was startled. ‘Have I said something funny?’ she asked.

‘No, Bets. But don’t you realize which of the passengers posted a letter?’ said Fatty, grinning.

‘Nobody did,’ said Bets. ‘Well - except you, of course!’

‘Yes - me!’ said Fatty. ‘And it’s going to make old Goon scratch his head hard when he thinks that of all his precious Suspects only one posted a letter - and that was his pet aversion, Frederick Trotteville!’

Bets laughed too. ‘That’s funny!’ she said. ‘But, Fatty, nobody could possibly think you would write horrid letters like that!’

‘Old Clear-Orf would believe I’d stolen the Crown Jewels, if there was any suspicion of it,’ said Fatty. ‘He’s got such a bad opinion of me! He’d think me capable of anything. Golly - he must be in a state, wondering who’s going to get that letter tomorrow morning!’

‘And nobody will get a letter!’ said Bets. ‘Because one hasn’t been posted. It will be the first Monday that is missed for six weeks. I wonder why?’

‘So do I,’ said Fatty. ‘Of course - if one does arrive - it will mean that the writer lives in Sheepsale after all, and has just posted the letter any time this morning, before the bus came up. Then we shall be properly stuck. We can’t watch all the inhabitants of Sheepsale posting letters!’

‘Perhaps whoever comes up on the bus to post the letters each Monday didn’t come today for some reason,’ said Bets.

‘That’s an idea,’ said Fatty. ‘When we go back on the bus we’ll ask the conductor if he always has his regular passengers each Monday, and see if any didn’t go this morning. We could make inquiries about them too - see if they’ve got any spite against Gladys or Molly or the others, and so on.’

‘When’s the next bus back?’ asked Bets. ‘I wish we could stay here for the day, Fatty. You’d love the market. But we haven’t got our lunch with us.’

‘We could have it in that little shop over there,’ said Fatty, pointing. ‘Look - it says, ‘Light Lunches.’ That probably means eggs and bread, and butter and cake. How would you like that?’

‘Oh, it would be lovely,’ said Bets. ‘You do have good ideas, Fatty. But Mother would be anxious if we didn’t come back.’

‘I’ll do a spot of phoning,’ said Fatty, who never minded doing things of that sort. Bets thought how like a grown-up he was, always deciding things, and, what was more, always seeming to have plenty of money to pay for everything!

Fatty disappeared into the post-office and went into the telephone box. He made three calls very quickly and came out.

‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘I phoned up your mother and Larry’s mother and mine - and they all said, “Good riddance to you for the day!” ’

‘They didn’t, Fatty!’ said Bets, who simply couldn’t imagine her mother saying any such thing.

‘Well - not exactly those words,’ grinned Fatty. ‘But I could tell they weren’t sorry to be rid of us for the day. I don’t think my mother, for instance, liked that new game of ours very much.’

‘I shouldn’t think she did, really,’ said Bets, remembering the yowling and groaning and rolling over and over that went with Fatty’s new game.

‘Let’s go and tell the others we can stay here for lunch. Won’t they be thrilled!’

They were. ‘Good old Fatty!’ said Larry. ‘It’s a treat to be up here on a day like this, among all the farming folk and their creatures. What’s the time? I’m getting jolly hungry.’

‘It’s a quarter to one,’ said Fatty. ‘I vote we go and have some lunch now. Come on. It looks a nice little place like a dairy and cake shop mixed.’

It was a nice little place - shining and spotless, with a plump woman in a vast white apron to serve them and beam at them.

Yes, she could do two boiled eggs apiece and some plates of bread and butter, and some of her own bottled gooseberries if they liked, with a jug of cream. And she’d made some new buns, would they like some?

‘This is just the kind of meal I like,’ said Bets, as the eggs arrived, all brown and smooth and warm. ‘I like it much better than meat. Oh - is that strawberry jam, how lovely!’

‘I thought you might like some with the bread and butter, after you’ve had your eggs,’ said the plump woman, smiling at them all. ‘They’re my own growing, the strawberries.’

‘I think,’ said Daisy, battering with her spoon at her egg, ‘I think that there can’t be anything nicer than to keep your own hens and ducks, and grow your own fruit and vegetables, and do your own bottling, and pickling, and jamming. When I’m grown-up I’m not going to get a job in an office and write dreary letters, or things like that - I’m going to keep a little house and have my own birds and animals and make all kinds of delicious food like this!’

‘In that case,’ said Larry, ‘I shall come and live with you, Daisy - especially if you make jam like this!’

‘I’ll come too,’ said both Fatty and Pip at once.

‘Oh - wouldn’t it be lovely if we could all live together, and have lovely meals like this, and solve mysteries for the rest of our lives!’ said Bets fervently.

Everybody laughed. Bets always took things they said so seriously.

‘Well, I can’t say we’ve made much headway at solving this one!’ said Fatty, beginning his second egg. ‘All right, Buster, old fellow, we’ll get you a meal too when we’ve finished. Be patient!’

Fatty paid the smiling woman for the meal when they had finished. The others wanted to pay their share, but hadn’t enough money. ‘We’ll take it out of our money-boxes when we get home,’ said Larry. ‘And give it to you, Fatty.’

‘That’s all right,’ said Fatty. ‘Now let’s go and watch them clearing up the market. Then we’d better inquire about our bus.’

They spent a lovely time watching the market folk packing up their unsold goods, taking away the birds and animals bought and sold, talking, laughing, and clapping one another on the back. Mrs. Jolly was there, talking to her sister, and she called to them.

‘Don’t you miss that bus back now! There’s only two more today, and the last one goes too late for you!’

‘Golly! We forgot to look up the bus-time,’ said Fatty, and ran to a bus time-table to look. ‘We’ve only got three minutes!’ he said. ‘Come on, we must run for it!’

They caught the bus with about half a minute to spare. But to Fatty’s deep disappointment the driver and conductor were different. Apparently the morning and afternoon buses were manned by different men.